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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28544256">believe in different reasons</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/escherzo/pseuds/escherzo'>escherzo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>T4TMA 2021 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Early Transition, Hormones, Multi, Overstimulation, Pre-Series, Research days, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Sasha James, Trans Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Vaginal Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:14:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,227</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28544256</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/escherzo/pseuds/escherzo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“So how is it so far?” Tim asks, taking a slow sip of his beer. He looks over to Jon, raising a curious eyebrow, and Jon flushes. </p><p>Tim had given him <i>so</i> much advice about how everything would go. What changes to expect in the first few weeks, months, what would feel natural and what would catch him off-guard. He seemed to relish it in a way he only did when he was properly digging into his research and had something to share with Jon or Sasha in one of his specialist areas; he liked playing the expert, and this was something that he knew like the back of his hand. Even now, there’s a gleam to Tim’s eyes as he looks Jon over.</p><p>Jon tries to think of the politest way to say “I believe I am effectively going through a thirteen year old boy’s puberty and menopause simultaneously and I have never been sweatier in my <i>entire life</i>.”</p><p>(T4TMA Day 2: Transition)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sasha James/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>T4TMA 2021 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090997</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>170</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>t4tma week 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>believe in different reasons</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>welcome to day 2: now with more limbs than day 1! mostly this is just. immensely horny. it has been ten years since i started t, and the primary memory of the early days was just being extremely overheated and sweaty all the time, so i gave some of that to jon. sorry, jon. title from excess by tricky.</p><p>jon and tim are both binary trans guys, sasha is some flavor of amab nonbinary &amp; uses she pronouns. bits are referred to in the following way: cock/chest for tim, cock/cunt/chest for jon, cock/breasts for sasha.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So how is it so far?” Tim asks, taking a slow sip of his beer. He looks over to Jon, raising a curious eyebrow, and Jon flushes. </p><p>Tim had given him <i>so</i> much advice about how everything would go. What changes to expect in the first few weeks, months, what would feel natural and what would catch him off-guard. He seemed to relish it in a way he only did when he was properly digging into his research and had something to share with Jon or Sasha in one of his specialist areas--he liked playing the expert, and this was something that he knew like the back of his hand. Even now, there’s a gleam to Tim’s eyes as he looks Jon over.</p><p>Jon tries to think of the politest way to say “I believe I am effectively going through a thirteen year old boy’s puberty and menopause simultaneously and I have never been sweatier in my <i>entire life</i>.” Even with the beer he’s drinking helping to dull his senses, he is entirely sure that if someone put a hand on him right now in any vaguely sexual direction he would take about thirty seconds to come and then would spend the next half hour far too warm. </p><p>(The thirty second thing he knows from experience. Yesterday, he was working on reviewing a statement before sending it to the Archives, and it got a bit sexy in one part, and he had to excuse himself to the bathroom and get a hand down his pants or be completely incapable of focusing in any useful way for the rest of the day. He timed it out of morbid curiosity.) </p><p>“It’s…” He hesitates and takes another sip of his beer. “An experience.” </p><p>“Oh come on,” Tim says, reaching into the bag in front of him to grab a crisp to gesticulate with. “You’ve gotta give me <i>something</i>.” </p><p>“I have never been sweatier in my life,” Jon deadpans, and Tim nearly snorts his beer into his nose with the force of his cackle. </p><p>“Yeah, that checks out,” he says, and from Jon’s other side on the couch, Sasha reaches out to pat him sympathetically on the shoulder.</p><p>“It gets easier,” she supplies. “Probably? I did it at more of a normal rate than you two.”</p><p>“Very sweaty is basically how I’d sum most of it up,” Tim admits, though he’s still grinning. “Is the rest kicking in yet?”</p><p>He means, “does a stiff breeze make you horny at the moment,” but for the sake of Jon’s sanity is not saying so, which Jon deeply appreciates, because even thinking about that might set him off again. He feels entirely imbalanced, like a structure about to tip over into a pile of rubble and messy hormones at any moment, and has spent the last two weeks feeling a new and deep sympathy for teenage boys. </p><p>“... I would say so,” Jon says, trying for as stuffy as he can manage in the hopes that he can talk his own body out of having any involvement in the conversation. </p><p>Tim pats him on the other shoulder. “It does calm down after a little while? Or at least it did for me. But it is a <i>lot</i> at first.” </p><p>“Mm,” Jon says into his drink, his face red, because all of a sudden his body has decided to overheat out of the blue again, and he is not nearly as embarrassed as he looks, but that also entirely does not matter in this moment. He distracts himself by shoving three crisps into his mouth at once with probably an excessive amount of enthusiasm for someone who barely remembers to eat most days.</p><p>“You know,” Tim begins, and then cuts himself off, sharing a quick look with Sasha. “... Nah. Later. Do you want your sandwich?” They’d ordered takeaway earlier, and what’s left of Jon’s sandwich is sitting sad and forgotten on his plate. </p><p>Jon waves a hand at it dismissively and Tim reaches over to pluck up the sandwich and pop it into his mouth. </p><p>Much later that evening, when one beer has turned into a number that Jon has entirely lost track of and Tim is vaguely slumped against his shoulder, Sasha says, so low he nearly misses it entirely, “we could help, you know.”</p><p>“Help?” Jon asks, and his voice completely cracks halfway through the word, which makes Tim, half passed out as he is, shake with laughter. The cracking is <i>embarrassing</i>, but also kind of nice in a way, he thinks, tangible proof that his voice actually is dropping like he wants it to. He just wishes it didn’t come with the side-effect of sounding like a teenager and suddenly getting carded at every possible turn because he looks like a prematurely greying thirteen year old at the moment. </p><p>“S’a good idea, Sasha,” Tim slurs, cuddling up closer to Jon, and Jon is tempted to get prickly about it but decides instead to let it happen, because it is far too much effort to protest and Tim is warm. Drunk Tim gets very physically affectionate; he can admit to himself, at this point, because he is eminently not sober, that it’s kind of cute. </p><p>“I’m--” Jon begins. He plucks one of the last crisps out of the bag to gesture with, because there is an important point to be made here, and a prop will get it across better. “I am... “ He’s lost it again.</p><p>“Drunk?” Sasha supplies, and she’s grinning, far too coherent relative to the two of them, but she’s got the advantage of being a head taller than Jon. </p><p>“Yes,” Jon agrees, and then shakes his head. “No. Well. I normally… don’t,” he says, and gets a bit distracted by the warmth of Tim against him for a moment before continuing, “but I think I might, uh, make an exception.” </p><p>“We know you don’t,” Sasha says, patting his hair instead of his shoulder this time. It feels nice. Comforting. He leans into it without meaning to. “It might be fun, though.” </p><p>“An exception,” Jon says again, nodding, and then closes his eyes, because nodding is not a good idea at present. It’s not that he’s <i>opposed</i> to sex, exactly, he’s just not normally that inclined to have it with other people, or in general, but… “Hurt my hand yesterday.”</p><p>“... hurt your hand?” Tim asks, blinking blearily up at him, and Jon shows him the raw red mark along his thumb. </p><p>“It feels nicer with clothes on sometimes,” Jon says, resting his head against the couch, which is soft and lovely and his very favorite thing at the moment, past Tim and Sasha, and he really should stop talking. “But I had quite a lot of, um, free time, and I think I may have torn some of my skin off. From. Movements.”</p><p>“Oh Jon,” Sasha says, biting her lip and looking down, terribly amused, at the slumped pair of them. “Are you saying you <i>injured yourself wanking</i>.” </p><p>“I did that once,” Tim supplies. “We should help. Clearly he’s in need.” </p><p>“You should,” Jon agrees, and the words feel like they fit strangely in his mouth. “Can’t--fix the situation myself right now.” </p><p>“Sunday,” Sasha decides, and then tries to get the both of them to sit upright. “We’re going to have <i>awful</i> hangovers tomorrow.” </p><p>Oh, god. Hangovers. Jon is trying very hard not to think about that possibility. Sasha is right, because she usually is; it’s going to be miserable tomorrow. </p><p>“Let’s get you two to bed,” she says, sighing as Tim sways back towards Jon even after she’s straightened him up, but they don’t really <i>need</i> to be going anywhere. It’s the weekend. No one is expecting anything from them until Monday, and Tim has an additional nice, squashy couch that was a move-in gift from his parents where Jon can sprawl out properly if he likes. More likely, though, they’re all just going to end up in Tim’s bed again. Jon can’t bring himself to mind too much. </p><p>“Mm,” he agrees, closing his eyes, and when he opens them again, he’s in the bed. It’s like magic. </p><p>He’s still overheated. It might be for a couple of different reasons at the moment though. </p><p>*</p><p>“Morning,” Tim calls as Jon stumbles out of his bedroom, bleary-eyed and with his guts churning, trying to make sense of the world. “Eggs?”</p><p>“Please,” Jon mumbles, slumping against the doorframe to the kitchen. Most of his body deeply wants to go back to being horizontal, but he’s got work to do today to catch up on his last research project that’s still sitting half-undone on his kitchen counter at home, and it won’t wait forever, massive headache or no massive headache. He slumps his way from the doorframe to one of the kitchen chairs. </p><p>“Sasha’s still passed out,” Tim says, knocking an egg on the side of the counter and then cracking it into the pan. ‘How’re you feeling?”</p><p>“Awful,” Jon says, resting his head against the cool wood of the table. His head feels slightly less awful that way. Part of him very much wants to ask <i>did I do anything terribly embarrassing last night?</i> but the longer he rests his head here, the more he actually does remember it properly, or at least enough bits of it that he can piece it together. So he agreed to… ah. Right. A little curl of heat goes through him and he presses his legs together hard. It is too early in the morning, and he feels too wretched, to actually entertain any of these thoughts properly. </p><p>“Here,” Tim says, setting a plate with two fried eggs and some nicely browned wheat toast in front of him, and he reaches out to fluff the disaster that Jon’s hair currently is. Jon stiffens, not quite prepared for touch this early in the morning, but lets himself relax into it after a moment. It does feel nice. “You really are a cat sometimes, y’know.” </p><p>“I’m sorry?” Jon says, unslumping enough to survey the breakfast in front of him. It does look good. The smell of the eggs is a bit too strong for his stomach, but he knows they’ll help, and so he’s trying to push past that. </p><p>“Thought you might be about to hiss at me for a sec there! It’s alright. I’ll try not to take it too personally.” Tim grins and goes back to scraping the last bits out of the pan. </p><p>Jon is in no mood to argue, because any volume will mean his head hurts, and so he just makes as grumpy of a sound as he can manage and starts picking carefully at the eggs with a fork, breaking the yolk and letting it run all over the plate in a rather detached, curious sort of way. </p><p>“Good morning, sunshines,” Sasha’s voice says from behind him, and he doesn’t turn his head, but he just knows that she’s having a better morning of it than either of them. He raises the hand that’s not holding his fork in what he hopes is more of a wave than a vague flump. </p><p>“Sasha, eggs?” Tim asks, midway through rinsing off his own plate, and at her nod, starts in on a second batch. “So, Jon.”</p><p>“Mm?” Jon asks, taking a bite of his toast. </p><p>“Do you still want us to give you a hand? Wanted to, y’know, check when you weren’t three sheets to the wind before we made any actual plans.” </p><p>Jon flushes. He is still… mildly injured, in a way that is entirely his own fault, and the heat that’s been simmering under his skin for the past week shows no sign of abating. He’s not had any of the--it feels odd to call them hot flashes, like he’s co-opting an experience that happens to other people, but the sudden overheating doesn’t have a better name--today, but some of the underlying excess energy is definitely still present. </p><p>“That would be…” He needs a nice, neutral word that conveys that he is interested, in a general sort of way, but one that won’t come off as <i>too</i> neutral. “... acceptable,” he finishes, and then winces a little at himself at the way Tim’s grin spreads wider. </p><p>“Oh, well, if it’s <i>acceptable</i>.” </p><p>“Fine,” Jon amends, and Sasha stage-whispers “<i>fine</i>” to Tim. </p><p>Jon sighs. </p><p>“Sorry,” Tim says after a moment, and when he stops and gives a meaningful look to Sasha, she echoes it. “So, yeah, though?” </p><p>“Yes,” Jon says. He’s sure his face is red. There’s no casual way to just come out with “so, coworkers I care quite deeply about, even if I am not particularly good at expressing it, do you want to have a threesome with me?” He has never said the word threesome in his life. He’s not planning to start now.  </p><p>Sasha settles down beside him and accepts the plate of eggs Tim passes her way, and they eat in companionable silence; the only sign from her that she’s feeling anything other than her best is that she and Tim aren’t going at each other like usual, because half of their communication is teasing and snipes that go back and forth so fast Jon can’t follow them. There’s something there he can’t for the life of him get the shape of. He’s not sure he’s quite wired to.</p><p>“Need to work later,” Jon says, pushing the last of his eggs around the plate to watch the way the remnants of yolk smear. </p><p>“It’s Saturday,” Sasha says, half a sigh. </p><p>“I am terrible at being unproductive,” Jon says, taking a sip of his tea. “You know that.” </p><p>“I know,” she agrees, looking down at her toast with a bit of a blank expression, like the texture of it is distracting. “... I should too, honestly.” </p><p>“Oh not <i>both</i> of you,” Tim grumbles as he puts the eggs back in his fridge and turns to start the washing up. “Competition every time with you two. We’re just researchers. No one’s gonna be handing out awards for us getting the work done any faster.” </p><p>“I like my job,” Jon tells his plate. “I’d like to keep it.” It is basically the only explicitly trans-friendly place he’s ever worked at, which Tim and Sasha are both eminently aware of, given that it’s part of why they ended up there too. It is a bit weird, now that he thinks about it, how nearly all of the coworkers he’s close with are, and more besides (the two in Library, Rosie at the front desk, and the three in Artefact Storage who like to make cracks about finding a sex-changing Leitner one of these days if the other Leitners don’t kill them first). There’s a guy who used to go down to the Archives once in a while who was some sort of contractor, and even he had a--vibe to him that made Jon think he had something going on himself.</p><p>“The esteemed institution of Jerry Mongoose would suffer without us,” Tim says brightly, reaching for his plate to dump it into the wash water he’s got running. “Don’t worry.” </p><p>“Sorry, Jerry <i>what</i>?”</p><p>“Jack Magnet,” Sasha offers, and Jon groans, because they get on these tangents sometimes and it physically pains him to hear them getting it intentionally wrong, and once they’ve started they just <i>keep going</i>, and he has learned that trying to offer unsolicited corrections when people are having fun is not as well-received as he thinks would be appropriate. </p><p>Instead of trying to correct them, he pushes himself to his feet and staggers back over to the couch. The older couch is one that got him through all of his early research days, when he and Georgie split and he didn’t have any other place to stay, and it is a bit threadbare in places, but so comfortably squashy that it immediately pillows him in its embrace when he lays down on it. It’s a good couch. Good job to that, Tim, he thinks blearily. </p><p>“Do you want me to wake you up later?” Tim calls from the kitchen, and Jon sighs and digs around in the pockets of the trousers he fell asleep in for his phone. He’s got an alarm on there somewhere. </p><p>The phone is dead. He probably should have assumed as much. </p><p>“In an hour,” he calls back, and starts hunting around for the outlet with the charger plugged into it. He gets that sorted before the couch calls him back to sleep, but only just. It is a very, very comfortable couch.</p><p>*</p><p>Usually on Sunday nights, they all get together and Jon cooks. His flat is far too small for all of them, and only has a twin bed, so they usually use Tim’s, because Sasha still lives with her grandfather. Tim’s got a flat big enough that three people can move around in it without knocking into each other <i>too</i> much, and his couches, and a coffee table they can spread board games or cards out on once they’ve all filled themselves up properly with as much food as they can handle, and his flatmate is perpetually off at other peoples’ houses. Jon likes cooking. He’s terrible at remembering to finish his own leftovers, but when there are two additional mouths to feed, it gets immediately easier to be able to enjoy cooking for its own sake without the added stress. </p><p>They make dumplings, because they are one of the things Jon loves deeply but has no use for the fiddliness of when it’s just him, and it’s nice to spread out around Tim’s kitchen table with a bowl of filling and try to direct Tim and Sasha into properly filling the dough and pinching it off. It’s comfortable. Cozy. Tim keeps up a steady stream of chatter as he goes, little bits of what he’s been looking into recently interspersed with gossip from all of the other departments, and Sasha always has him beat on that front, because somehow she has eyes and ears everywhere to a degree that would be frightening if Jon stopped to think about it too much, and mostly, for his part, he doesn’t have to talk at all. He can be in their presence and just drink it in and not have to worry that he’s saying the wrong thing or going to make someone uncomfortable by cutting them off in conversation.</p><p>It’s nice. He was shy with Tim, at first, even as Tim immediately latched onto him and declared that they were going to be friends and have you met Sasha? Sasha’s <i>great</i>, but being able to just exist in other peoples’ spaces without any of the anxiety that comes with it is something he can’t properly express how much he appreciates. </p><p>“So then Sandra--oh, Jon, think we’re running low on the filling,” Sasha says, peering into the bowl, and Jon blinks, halfway through folding over dough and back into awareness. “Should we make more?”</p><p>Tim looks at the small mountain of dumplings they have stacked up on one of his plates, a huge old thing that doesn’t match any of the others that has little cartoon owls all around it that he took with him when he first moved out. “I… think we might have enough?” he ventures. The mountain will keep them in dumplings until approximately Doomsday, or at least until the Institute falls down around their ears.</p><p>“I can make more,” Jon offers entirely on reflex, and then lets himself properly survey the tower of them. “... I should start cooking these.” </p><p>It’s a bit of a production as he does--pan-frying the bottoms and then throwing in enough water to steam without setting off Tim’s overactive smoke alarm before scraping off the last of the bits and starting in on the next batch. Tim and Sasha keep any truly distracting shenanigans to a minimum because the smoke alarm really is the bane of all of their existences, and before long a gleaming pile of dumplings is assembled on the counter next to the stove. Sasha bumps Jon companionably as she takes the plate of them to the table, and he tries very hard not to think about some of the other events they discussed for this evening. He’ll just ease his way into it. He wipes a hand across his forehead. The steam keeps fogging up his glasses, and he can feel a twinge at his temple that probably means he’s got more acne coming on, and his clothes are a mess of flour and little bits of filling, but neither of them are looking at him like anything other than a friend that they like and not the disaster he feels like, so he’s choosing to count it as a win. </p><p>“Anything you want to do after dinner?” Tim asks Sasha, midway through the enormous plate of dumplings, when they have all eaten about three times as many of them as is really sensible and Jon feels in danger of swooning like a Victorian maiden onto the table by sheer force of the fullness of his belly. </p><p>Sasha takes a moment, looking over at the stack of various board games in the other room, and Jon suspects she’s cataloguing which ones she’s most able to beat the two of them at, because if there’s anything she has a problem with, other than knowing far more details of gossip than any one person with normal sight and hearing should, it’s being competitive. </p><p>He’s not very good at losing either, admittedly. </p><p>“Jon,” she says instead, and Jon blinks. </p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>She grins, all teeth. “I meant what we’re going to do after dinner,” she says, and all of the blood in Jon’s body that isn’t being diverted to his suddenly cherry-red face rushes south so quickly he could swear it makes his ears ring. </p><p>“Let’s give the food a little while to settle, probably,” Tim says, but now he’s grinning at Jon too, and Jon gets the distinct sense of being a prey animal caught between two things that are <i>definitely</i> going to eat him. But in a nice way. “But then sure. If you’re still up for it?”</p><p>“Right,” Jon squeaks, and then clears his throat to try and make it sound less like he’s just squeaked. “Settling sounds… good. And then. Uh. Yes.” It is probably the least smooth he has ever been, but neither of them seem to mind terribly. </p><p>*</p><p>He could call what they do next watching a movie, if he’s being charitable, but he doesn’t think any of them are actually paying that much attention. He’s lost track of what kind of movie it is--it’s subtitled, older-looking CGI with a lot of dark color and brooding and also possibly vampires, although he’s not entirely sure he’s not imagining that part. He’s not absorbed a single bit of the plot at this point, because Tim is sat on one side of him and Sasha is sat on the other and over the course of the last fifteen minutes both of them have put a hand on his thigh, and if either of them move their hands any higher he is going to come, or die, or both at the same time. Probably both at the same time. </p><p>“What do you think?” Tim asks, leaning in close, and his breath against Jon’s ear makes Jon shiver violently, his whole body oversensitized. He is not used to his body wanting <i>anything</i>, and now all he wants to do is have their hands all over him. He closes his eyes and tries to take a deep breath, but it turns into a plaintive whine as Sasha’s fingers slide up a little higher, tracing along the inner seam of his trousers and so close to where he wants them. </p><p>“I think so,” she says, and Tim reaches out and cups Jon’s cheek, turning his head to the side so that Jon has to meet his eyes. Whatever he sees in Jon’s face seems to give him the answer he was looking for, and he strokes his thumb over Jon’s cheekbone once, a little caress, before leaning in to kiss him, soft and sweet. He doesn’t linger, not at first, but even that little touch goes through Jon so quick and sharp that he’s lost his breath entirely, and he can’t help but reach for Tim in return to pull him in and kiss him properly. </p><p>Tim’s lips are hot against his, and when he opens his mouth a little and cups the side of Jon’s neck with his other hand, keeping him close, Jon follows, swaying into it, his blood running hot. Every little touch seems so magnified in this small space, every shift of their hands on his body going through him like electricity, and then Sasha cups him properly through his trousers, squeezing, and he moans outright, the sound not entirely swallowed by the kiss, and he can feel Tim’s widening smile. </p><p>“Good?” Sasha asks, and Jon squeezes his eyes shut and nods before moving forward blindly towards Tim again. She’s barely even <i>doing</i> anything, just moving her palm in slow, pressing circles, firm pressure against his cock, but it’s already so much. The heat in his belly coils tighter and tighter with every small movement, and when Tim breaks the kiss to lean down and start kissing his way down Jon’s neck Jon comes, all at once, with all of their clothes still on and only a hand on him through two layers of clothing. He shudders through it, his head tipped back, and Sasha’s hand stills.</p><p>“Did you just--” Tim asks, blinking at him, and Jon flushes harder. His whole face must be red at this point. </p><p>“... Possibly?” he manages.</p><p>“Fuck,” Tim says, sounding <i>very</i> pleased, and Sasha makes a noise of agreement from behind him. “Let’s get off the couch.” </p><p>They don’t act like he’s done something embarrassing, even though he can’t have lasted a full minute even, and they stay close as he gets to his feet on legs so shaky they threaten to wobble out from under him. Sasha slips a hand under his shirt, tucked at the small of his back, as they guide him into Tim’s bedroom; Tim’s bed isn’t quite big enough for three, but they’ve done it before, at least for sleeping, a mess of heat and limbs with all of them tucked in alongside each other. </p><p>“Still good?” Tim asks, stripping his shirt off in one smooth motion, all tan skin and soft muscle underneath, and Jon has never looked at someone and wanted to touch them in this way before, really, but Tim’s chest is smooth and flat and his scars are barely visible, just thin little white lines, and he can’t help but explore that, feeling it out, the shape of him and the possibilities that could hold. He nods, in answer to Tim’s question, and because he wants to keep going, so curious about what it might look like, might <i>feel</i> like, and Tim smiles, something small and sharp and private, just for the three of them. </p><p>“I can’t feel that, y’know,” Tim says, laughing a little as Jon’s fingers splay out across his chest. He reaches down and starts undoing the button of his trousers, shoving them down in one quick motion, and Sasha leans down to wrap her arms around Jon from behind. She’s always been a little bit possessive. When she nudges him to turn, he goes; he wants to be good for her. She’s got her shirt off already, and he presses close, touching the expanse of bare skin, the lace of her black bra and the soft handfuls of her breasts, and when he cups one and leans in to kiss where her nipples have pebbled up in the cold, she breathes in sharply and holds him there. Georgie always used to like it when he used his mouth there; he’s not done this, much, but his body remembers that part. </p><p>Her fingers tuck up under his shirt and start to lift it off, and he raises his hands to help, letting himself be stripped, still breathing hard. With his eyes closed, it’s easy to lose track of whose hands are whose - her hands on his chest, and then there are hands on his waistband as well, getting him out of his trousers--Tim’s, maybe. Tim makes a questioning noise and he feels hands at his binder. Sometimes he leaves it on, but today--he thinks today he can manage without it. </p><p>“Go ahead,” he says, and then there is the supremely unsexy, awkward dance of trying to wiggle him out of it, because it’s an old one that’s stretched out in odd ways and fits him so tightly it leaves red marks across his abdomen and he’s been sweating into it all day. They’re all laughing a little by the end of it, half because of the challenge and half because Tim keeps accidentally tickling him as he goes, and then all at once he’s entirely naked and being nudged backwards towards the bed. </p><p>He closes his eyes once he’s on the bed. It’s easier that way. Easier to lose himself in sensation and the feel of two pairs of hands on his body, making his already oversensitive, thrumming body run hotter still. “Anything we shouldn’t do?” Tim asks from somewhere to his left, and the hand on his thigh strokes back and forth slowly. </p><p>“Don’t--” Jon tries to gather his thoughts properly enough that he can form words. “Not my chest.”  </p><p>“Got it. Can I get my mouth on you?” </p><p>Jon’s tried it, once, with Georgie, and it was mostly strange, and a little unpleasant in its oversensitivity, and didn’t do much for him, and so he shakes his head. “Other things are okay.” He feels like he’s being <i>difficult</i> again, and so he cracks an eye open, trying to brace himself against the possibility that the two of them are looking bored, or disappointed, but when he opens them Tim is leaning over him and drawing Sasha into a long, lingering kiss, his hand still braced on Jon’s thigh, and he slides it higher up to cup Jon’s cock when he notices Jon looking at the two of them. Jon’s breath leaves him all at once in a hiss. </p><p>“So,” Tim says, when he breaks the kiss, slicking his fingers up and rubbing at a spot just above Jon’s cock that is somehow <i>better</i> than being touched directly, an overwhelming, nearly painfully good sensation that he can’t stop himself from pushing up into, “how many times can you go?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Jon admits. When he--mildly injured himself, it was after the fifth time, but he thinks, on some hazy level, that that probably wasn’t his actual limit. “More than five, possibly? I don’t have a baseline to compare to.” </p><p>Sasha’s hand slides slowly down his back, and even the light touch on his arse makes him shiver. “What about before you went on T?” </p><p>“I…” Jon clutches at Tim’s wrist to still him just for a second, because he is quite sure he’s going to end up coming again already, mid-sentence, if Tim doesn’t stop his awful, perfect, clever fingers doing what they’re currently doing. “I couldn’t before.” </p><p>“Hold on,” Tim says, and when Jon releases his wrist he goes back to touching Jon, firm and steady pressure that feels so good Jon could cry with it. “Does that mean before, with Sasha on the couch--”</p><p><i>Was that the first time someone else had ever gotten you off,</i> he means, and mercifully does not voice the thought in its entirety, because Jon is already embarrassed enough. He nods in lieu of an answer and then reaches out for Sasha to try and steady himself, because he’s <i>close</i>, and he’s naked now, he’s going to make a mess and Tim and Sasha are going to see that, and he doesn’t know what to do with that thought at all. </p><p>“Fuck,” Sasha breathes, sharing a quick look with Tim. She tucks herself along his side, and he can feel the hardness of her pressed against him. He wonders, in an idle sort of way, what it would feel like inside him, and then realizes that he might find out, and it’s that thought, this time, that is enough to push him over the edge. He cries out, too far gone to be embarrassed, already, shaking through it as two pairs of hands hold him steady, and his chest heaves as he tries to gather air back in. His ears are still ringing with the force of it. </p><p>“Do your ears ring after?” Jon asks, to neither of them in particular, because all of this is so new, and he honestly doesn’t <i>know</i> if that’s normal or not, and Tim grins. </p><p>“Happened once,” he says, his long, clever fingers still playing with Jon’s cock. “You’ve got some good growth going.”</p><p>“Do I?” Jon peers down at himself, and another little shudder of arousal goes through him at the sight of Tim’s fingers against his cock. </p><p>“Yeah,” Sasha says, her hand joining Tim’s for a moment, feeling out the shape of him. “Oh, it’s still twitching a little.” </p><p>Jon’s face burns, and a pleasant little jolt goes through him at the words. Something about how casual she is about it. </p><p>“Tell you what,” Tim says, his fingers moving a bit faster, one finger on either side of his cock. “Just tell us when you’re ready to be done, and until then, we’ll just keep at it, okay?” </p><p>“I want--” Jon tries to speak past the little noises that keep threatening to tumble out of him. He could do this, just this, and be satisfied, but this is about all of them, and he wants--he doesn’t know how to ask for it, and so he wraps his fingers around Tim’s and draws him away, trying to nudge him lower. </p><p>“You want one of us to fuck you?” Tim asks. “Where?” </p><p>“Ah, um, well… both?” Jon says all in a rush, because he still has no idea how to ask for this, but he has <i>both</i> of them in his bed, and they’re not showing any signs of wanting to leave, and so he wants to let himself be greedy for a little while. To get to feel everything.</p><p>Sasha’s smile widens. “<i>Oh.</i> Tim, do you have--” </p><p>“Yeah,” Tim says, and kneels back to lean over the edge of the bed and start fumbling around underneath. Sasha shares a quick look with Jon and then reaches over to swat Tim’s upturned arse, and Tim’s whole body jumps with it. </p><p>“Sorry,” she says, and doesn’t sound sorry in the slightest. Tim doesn’t seem to mind, either; Jon can hear the sound of a box being slid out from under the bed, and then, having found his prize, Tim waggles his arse back and forth before getting back up onto the bed properly. He’s holding something in his hand, a tangled mess of black straps with a dildo hanging off of it, and it is bright pink, because of <i>course</i> it is. Jon snorts entirely without meaning to.</p><p>“Hey,” Tim says, using the dildo to point at him. “Shut it, you.” </p><p>Jon is struck all at once, as Sasha starts to snicker beside him and Tim fumbles with the straps of the harness, trying to get everything untangled, by how much he absolutely could not do this if it was anyone but the two of them. </p><p>“You still sure you want both of us?” Tim asks as he slides the harness on, and Jon nods. He’s a little scared of what it will feel like; he knows it will be even more overwhelming than everything else already has been, but he’s becoming a different person, and he decides that means it’s okay to want things he’s not tried before. He’s learning what he likes. </p><p>“Okay,” Sasha says, and leans over to kiss him. Her mouth is hot and sweet against his; she kisses a bit like a fight, her teeth nipping at his lower lip as she draws away, and it’s so wonderfully, perfectly her that if he had stopped to think, before, what kissing her might have been like, it would have been exactly this he was imagining. “Jon, have you--done this?” She runs a hand across the swell of his arse, just the ghost of a touch over his hole, and he squirms with it. </p><p>“No,” he admits, and he can feel the way it makes her shiver. He’s been curious, but he hasn’t even touched <i>himself</i> there before. It seemed like too much effort for too much uncertainty. </p><p>“Can I?” she asks Tim, and he rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he does it.</p><p>“Just collecting all his firsts,” he says, and she shrugs like, <i>yeah, guilty</i>, and then he’s off the side of the bed again to retrieve lube from the box, the dildo tucked into his harness awkwardly squashed to the side. Jon barely suppresses a laugh at it, but then Sasha is pulling him into another kiss, slower and deeper than the first, her hand still cupping his arse, and he pushes back into the touch without thought, still lost in the haze of <i>yes</i> and <i>more</i>. </p><p>It takes them a moment to figure out how to arrange him, straddling Tim’s lap with Sasha tucked in close behind him, and when Tim dips a careful finger inside his cunt, testing, Jon can hear how wet he still is, what a mess the two of them have already made of him after two orgasms, and he clutches onto Tim’s sides harder. Tim’s fingers are long and clever, and a second joins the first before it’s even pushed all the way inside, twining inside him and rubbing until Jon cries out, a sudden, shocky pleasure ripping through him. It feels so good. He wants more of that, and <i>now</i>, but TIm is being careful. “Please,” he says, because it feels good to say it, good to feel them both react to it, and then Sasha is helping Tim lift him until he’s perched above Tim’s strap, his thighs quivering as he holds himself up. It feels like it takes no effort at all to let himself sink down, a quick moment of stinging pain underneath the pressure and pleasure of being suddenly filled. </p><p>“One down,” Tim says, and winks at Sasha. He keeps his hips still, giving Jon a moment to get used to it, and Jon tries to figure out how to move, how to roll his hips in the way that feels best, only to pause entirely when he feels Sasha’s fingers at his hole, slick with lube.</p><p>“Oh,” he says, entirely without meaning to, as she pushes one of her fingers inside, reaching around with her other hand to press against his cock and give him something to grind against to distract himself from how strange it feels. The way his body is giving confused, sparking signals, the thought that he’s really doing this, that he’s going to let Sasha fuck his arse, making arousal twist painfully in his belly. It feels like something he’s not supposed to be doing, and better for it. Just the edge of something forbidden. </p><p>“Good?” Tim asks, slowly circling his hips as she gives him more, starting to fuck her finger in and out and, mid-thrust, pushing in another beside the first. Jon means to tell him how strange it is, how <i>full</i> he is, how there’s something he’s just on the edge of and can’t put a name to, and instead she pushes both of her fingers deep at once and he moans so loud and sudden it catches him entirely off-guard.</p><p>“Oh he <i>likes</i> that,” Sasha says, leaning in to kiss the side of his neck. “I thought he might.” </p><p>“Sasha,” Jon manages, rocking his hips back to meet her, because something in this has gone from a strange, uncertain feeling to a need for more so deep and aching he burns with it, and every movement of his hips shifts Tim inside him, and this is so much, he was not prepared for just how much this would be. </p><p>“He does seem like the type,” Tim says, grinning over Jon’s shoulder at her. “Ready?” </p><p>Jon’s not sure which one of them he’s asking, but he thinks the answer is the same regardless. There’s still a thin little strand of fear underneath all of this, because it hasn’t hurt yet, but it <i>could</i>, but it’s almost entirely drowned out by how badly he wants to feel this. Wants to be used by both of them like this until he’s sore and aching. To find out what the actual limits of his body are like this. He nods, already beyond words. </p><p>Sasha grips him tightly by the hips when her cock starts to split him open, and every tiny shift forward makes his breath go shakier. Tim reaches down between them and rubs at his cock, trying to relax him, and all at once Sasha is sliding in deep, her hips pressed to his back, all the way inside, and the sudden, overwhelming pressure of it and Tim’s fingers push him over the edge again. He clenches around her, his hands reaching out for anything he can grab, and Tim takes one hand and Sasha the other, holding him tight as he shakes apart. </p><p>“Oh,” he says, when he can speak again, and Sasha kisses him between his sweat-slicked shoulder blades. “I…” </p><p>“Good?” Tim asks, and he nods, still gripping their hands tight. </p><p>“Good,” Sasha echoes, and there’s a moment that seems to pass between Tim and her before all at once they start to move. The rhythm is a little unsteady at first, but it doesn’t take the two of them long; they’ve always worked well together. Jon cries out and holds on as tight as he can as he’s fucked, Sasha moving slick and steady in his arse and Tim in his cunt, the two of them pressing so deep it makes his whole body sing with it, over and over, and he loses himself to it entirely, just lets himself be a mess of sensation, no idea what sounds are coming out of his mouth. He moves entirely on instinct, rolling his hips to try and keep them both inside him, keep them deep. Sasha’’s noises in his ear are growing harsher, her thrusts faster, and it’s all he can do to keep up and let her use him as she chases her own peak, closing his eyes. He comes once, or twice, or maybe just never stops coming from the first to the second, he’s lost track entirely, making a slick mess of all of them, and when Sasha tucks in closer and murmurs into his ear, “can I?” and fucks in deep as demonstration, it’s all he can do to nod. He wants her to come in him. He wants to make Tim come, too, wants the two of them to feel like he does, all of his higher thoughts gone and his mind a mess of hazy pleasure. </p><p>He can feel it, a little, as she comes in him. Presses in deep one last time and then holds there, her hips shaking with it, making even more of a mess of him, her soft little moan in his ear and her hands tight on his hips. “Fuck,” she manages, after a moment, slumping against his back and then hissing with oversensitivity as Tim rolls his hips again, fucking into Jon with her still inside and going soft. </p><p>“Tim,” she says, clearing her throat. “Give me a minute, okay?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Tim agrees. His face is red and there’s sweat beading on his temples, too, but he holds still as she slowly pulls out of Jon. It feels strange, and he tries not to wince, tries not to get distracted by how <i>empty</i> he feels now, even with Tim inside him, but she takes one look at him and gets a mischievous, pleased little look on her face, and presses back inside him with three fingers. </p><p>“Don’t worry,” she says, and there’s tenderness to it, but with a wicked edge under that. “I know how much you like it.” </p><p>“Oh, fuck,” Jon manages, because she’s right, he <i>does</i>; he probably shouldn’t, but he does. He’s going to want this part again. Even when the hormones calm down. That part he’s already sure of. Going to want one of them, or both of them, to bend him over and fuck his arse until he’s sore with it. </p><p>“More?” Tim asks, grinding up into him as Sasha works her fingers. </p><p>“What do you need?” Sasha asks him, and his fingers tighten on Jon’s hips and draw him in a little closer, adjusting the angle, until every movement draws small, bitten-off noises out of Tim too. </p><p>“This will work,” Tim manages, and so Jon moves with him, trying to make him feel as good as Jon does, even as the heat in him builds, sharpens again with every movement of Tim’s hips and the clever twist of Sasha’s fingers. </p><p>“Tim,” Sasha says, moving to the side as best as she can with her fingers still inside Jon. She leans in and kisses him, her mouth moving wet and hot against his, and Jon can see the curl of their tongues against each other’s. When the kiss breaks Tim stares for a long moment, his eyes wide, and Sasha smiles at him, something small and tender. She leans in and nips at his ear and then murmurs, so quiet that Jon barely catches the words, “you can do it, baby, come on,” and Tim squeezes his eyes shut and clutches at Jon’s hips so hard he’s sure he will have bruises in the morning and comes, his whole body taut and shuddering as it pulses through him. Jon gets a hand on himself as Tim slumps back, still inside him, and it takes nothing at all to join Tim. His ears ring again, after.</p><p>“More?” Tim asks, panting, and Jon has to take a long moment to remember how human speech works in any capacity before he pants out, “<i>No.</i>” He smiles, and he’s sure he looks like a mess--his face a sweaty, fucked-out wreck, his hair all over the place, and if he comes again tonight he is fairly sure he will collapse entirely and the two of them will have to carry him into work on Monday morning. “No, I’m good,” he says, and Tim slides out of him, leaving him empty and sprawled on the bed, still trying to get his breath back. </p><p>“Nice,” Sasha says to Tim, and holds out her hand for a high five. A job well done by the two of them. He’ll give them that. </p><p>God, he wants a shower. “Do you think,” he starts, and then has to take a moment, now that he is well and truly empty, to just sprawl out onto the sheets and try to remember how his limbs work. </p><p>“Not usually,” Tim says brightly.</p><p>“Do you think the shower is big enough,” Jon finishes, and raises an eyebrow at him. They’ve shared the bed, but not the shower, but he very much wants to clean up the mess that he is covered in, and he doesn’t want to have to leave any of them behind for it. It doesn’t feel right not to be close right now.</p><p>“Think it’ll fit two,” Tim offers. “We could probably do three if we get creative.”</p><p>“Form an orderly queue,” Sasha intones, and Tim snorts. </p><p>“We’ll let you go first,” Tim says, and when Jon reaches out for the both of them, his expression softens all at once. “Right. We could take turns, I guess? Or really just figure out how many people the shower can fit at once. First time for everything! Sasha, you up for it?” </p><p>She makes a show of thinking hard over it, and then grins. “Yeah, okay. Jon, are we going to need to carry you?” </p><p>“You might,” Jon says, because he’s tried to stand up and mostly failed at it, collapsing back onto the bed before his legs can wobble out from under him entirely. He doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed; for the first time in a couple of weeks, he doesn’t feel like he’s about to crawl out of his own skin with the force of his own arousal. Mostly, he just feels enormously satisfied. </p><p>“C’mon, up you get,” Sasha says, picking him up like a sack of potatoes, and he tries very hard not to squirm and just let that happen. “We’re definitely going to need at least two in the shower. He’s liable to fall over.” </p><p>“... Thanks,” Jon says, from where he’s slung over Sasha’s shoulder, and it feels ridiculous--it <i>is</i> ridiculous, and he can’t help but laugh at himself a little. </p><p>“We <i>definitely</i> broke him,” Tim says, and gets up from the bed to help Sasha carry him. He sounds inordinately pleased with himself. </p><p>Jon can’t even find it in himself to mind.</p>
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